Robert Davenport had fallen hopelessly in love with a young woman, a certain Mary Clark, who was, quite incidentally, a general servant at his Cambridge home. This union was not allowed at all, and despite Robert’s pleas to his father, and then his mother, he was swiftly betrothed to Lady Emily Montgomery of Birmingham. He protested the marriage, but on pain of being disinherited, eventually conceded to the marriage.
He had, however, his way with Mary, who was his only true love, and this consummation led to a pregnancy. Mary feared what this complication would mean for her beloved Robert, and one night, after much thinking and many tears, stole away to her family home, after leaving a letter for her lover revealing her condition and outlining the reasons for her departure. Robert never received this letter, not until much later, because it found its way into the hands of Cambridge’s housekeeper who was loyal to a fault to the lady of the house, Robert’s mother.
When Robert’s father died, and his mother took gravely ill, she revealed the existence of this letter to her son, who was by now a decade and a half into a loveless, and childless marriage. Robert sought out Mary, but with no success. So, on his own deathbed, brought on by a combination of illness and a broken heart, he wrote this secret letter, instructing Horace to find Beatrice, and to restore her to her rightful place as Lady Beatrice Davenport of Cambridge.
A few weeks after writing this letter, Robert Davenport was dead, and his wife, Emily, died a year later. His entire fortune was now to be handed down to his brother’s firstborn son, a certain Lord Thaddeus Davenport if no legitimate heir could be found. Horace had, after much diligence and out of a sense of duty toward his friend, and a deep desire for justice, located the young Beatrice Clark to the house Carter.
And this is what sees this old man, on this perfectly gloomy autumn morning,
calling upon this house.
He has related his reasons with such enthusiasm that the people within earshot
of his words feel like they have been transported, on the wings of his words, to a magical place where such events were possible, and where, quite possibly, you stood, at least, half a chance of spotting fairies at the bottom of the garden. He has captivated them, especially Hudson.
Hudson stares at Horace for a long time after he has related the story and the events that led to this visit. He is caught up in the sheer fantasy of it all, the absolute unfathomableness of each word. Eventually, he gathers himself as best he can, and then looks at Mrs. Seymour, who has been standing in the doorway,
listening to every word, and says, rather quietly, his face whitewashed with disbelief, “fetch Beatrice…”
Chapter 5
Lady Beatrice
Davenport
B eatrice walks into the parlor and everyone in the room, especially Hudson, looks at her with an intense scrutiny that makes her feel uncomfortable.
“She is nothing like her father…” Horace says, before introducing himself, extending a hand which Beatrice is reluctant to take.
“Sit down Beatrice, this is Horace Colborne, a barrister from London…” Hudson speaks in a monotone for the first time that she can remember.
Horace is exceptionally animated as he relays the reason for his visit to Beatrice. His words surprise even the people in the room who have heard this story before. Everyone looks at Horace as he speaks, everyone but Beatrice. She has her eyes on Hudson, who is looking at her to Horace, alternately.
“…and so, Lady Davenport, I must ask if you will accompany me to London so that we can set right this most atrocious of injustices, and then, as soon as you are ready, restore you to your rightful place at Cambridge!” Horace is urgent in his plea, looking at Beatrice directly now, expecting an answer almost immediately.
Beatrice is in shock, and her already pale face is whiter still. Her mouth is dry, and no words will come out of it. She just looks from Hudson to Horace and then back to Hudson. She is searching for direction from him, something; anything that will give her an indication of what she should do. All this information proving too much for her.
If she was of a more delicate constitution, she might have fainted at this point. But Beatrice has never been a soft woman. Although she wasn’t trained to be a lady, she knows all too well the perils of living in the real world. And while she has wept, like the morning she heard of Hudson’s betrothal, she was never an outwardly emotional girl, choosing, as she did that day, to weep in silence.
This was different to any situation she had ever encountered before, though, and this would certainly change her life dramatically. The news, when it got out, would turn English society on its head, and she will never view nor interact with this society in the same way. If what Horace Colborne has just said to her is true that she is Lady Beatrice Davenport of Cambridge. And she is by no stretch of the imagination, a very wealthy woman.
“So my father is dead?” she asks eventually, not sure how to feel about the death of a man she never knew.
“I’m afraid he is,” Horace says, adding, “but you must know, he loved your mother dearly, and you too, even though you had never met. And that is why, in light of his wishes, I must ask you again, will you come with me?” Horace really asks as though they are going to leave that minute, as though this travesty couldn’t go on a moment longer, and Beatrice should be restored to her birthright.
“How can you be sure it is me?” she asks, wanting to believe every word that the old barrister is saying, but cautious still, at the risk of exciting herself only to be disappointed.
“Well, it’s quite simple, really. Is your mother Mary Clark?” Horace is rather matter-of-fact about the question, using his barrister's voice.
“Yes, my mother was…” Beatrice answers.
“And were you her only child?” he continues.
“Yes, I was…” she says, knowing this to be true.
“Then you must be the daughter of the now-late Earl of Berkshire because your mother was a most virtuous woman, and she would never have laid with another man while she was in love with the earl. You, my dear, are Lady Beatrice Davenport and that is all there is to be said on the matter. Nobody who knew your father, and who knew of his relationship with your mother, would ever dispute this.” Horace is passionate now, speaking as though he is trying to convince Beatrice of her own identity, which essentially, he is.
She looks at Hudson, whose face is also whitewashed, as he searches her for a possible answer. There can be but one reply to this news, though, one reply to Horace’s request. He has come to take Beatrice with him, and it is clear that he will not take no for an answer. When he asks her again if she will accompany him to London, she looks at Hudson, needing him to say something, wanting him to.
“Help the Lady Beatrice pack her things,” Hudson says eventually to the maids standing near the door. “It is far to London, and I suspect Lord Colborne would want to leave presently. This really is exciting news.” He is speaking to Beatrice now. Still, she cannot say anything, for nothing could have prepared her for this when she was summoned into the parlor.
“Thank you for your time, Lord Carter,” Horace says to Hudson, and then insists that Beatrice go and get ready for their journey, which, as Hudson had said, is going to be a very long one…
Beatrice watches the other maids, now looking at her curiously, pack up her belongings. It isn’t much, but there seems to be an insistence on removing her entirely from the house. She is still confused, despite her calmness in the parlor, and this confusion morphs quickly to anxiety. What exactly does all this mean, for her, and her life?
She wants to speak with Hudson, she wants him to help her understand what was going on here. She wants even to speak with Mrs. Seymour, who seemed to know more than she really ever could about everything, so it seemed, at least to Beatrice, that this woman would offer her insights on this most unexpected situation.
Nobody speaks to Beatrice though, and Hudson seems to have disappeared altogether from the manor. She is led to where the carriage is
waiting outside, and as she steps up into it, she looks back at the house that she has suddenly
been evicted from. She wants to cry, knowing that this at the very least would be an appropriate response.
But she can’t.
The excitement of what lies ahead for her is fighting inside her head with any thoughts and feelings that she has just lost the most important person in her life, and this excitement seems to be winning. There are many things for her to discuss with Horace Colborne, but she will save these discussions for when she has sufficiently calmed down.
Beatrice has always had a level head, and despite her delusions and fantasies, she has always been able to distinguish between what was real, and what wasn’t. Now, though, she finds herself thinking that at any moment she might wake up from this dream that she never even knew she was allowed to entertain. That she could be Lady Davenport is so far from what seems to be the reality that she almost doesn’t allow herself to believe it. Not yet, anyway…
Chapter 6
Learning to be a Lady
H udson had seemed to insist that Beatrice go, so she had put up no protest. Her fortunes had changed dramatically, and her circumstances, and so she knew that he would never want to stand in the way of this. How could he though? She had a responsibility now, to the house of Cambridge, a house that had essentially denied her existence for her whole life. She would join the ranks of society, and she would become a lady. These and many other thoughts fill her head so much that the trip to London is a short and silent one.
Horace is more than a little excited at his new project, it seems. Beatrice is to live with him at his London house while he prepares her for her new life. The legalities of her situation and her new status are matters quickly put to rest, and it is quickly established that she is Lady Beatrice Davenport. All that he needs to do now is to make sure that she looks and acts in a manner befitting her new position.
He is very patient with her. He understands that lessons in etiquette, manners and deportment were not a part of her upbringing, and he gets her the help she needs to school her in such things. Horace is unmarried, so there is no woman in his life who could teach Beatrice the intricacies of being a lady. But there are schools dedicated to such preparations in London, and Horace spares no expense in getting the best. Beatrice is, after all, now a lady of great means, and so money is really no longer a problem.
Between classes and teas and dinners at his table and lunches at London’s finest eateries, seamstresses and tailors scurry to clothe her appropriately. Then there are lessons in riding and even archery, purely for her benefit and because she asked. Horace dare not deny Lady Beatrice anything.
This world is so different to the one that Beatrice had known her whole life that it still feels like a dream. She goes through every day, doing what she must, learning what she must, and starting to behave as she should. But at night, when she goes to bed, she cannot comprehend the opulence that surrounds her now, much less comprehend the promise of even greater opulence. When she is awake, she goes through the motions of her new life. When she is asleep, she dreams of a former life that seems to be so far from the here and now that this life starts to feel like a fantasy.
She wonders if she hadn’t made up this other existence, had not invented the Carter’s and Hudson, and her station as a general servant in their home. What if she had created this other life in her head to escape the great responsibility that came with her current dispensation? She doesn’t know anymore, much of anything, except that each day brings her closer to assuming the role that comes with the title already bestowed upon her.
When news of Hudson’s official engagement to Katherine Frampton reaches Beatrice, the announcement ball much publicized, she doesn’t speak to anyone for two days. She does, however, commit herself more intensely to her training, as a means of distraction mostly, wanting to waste not a single thought on the man she loves marrying another. It was, after all, a stupid dream. A girlish fantasy. And there really is no place for fantasies in her new world, and in her new life.
“I think you’re ready…” Horace says, about a month later. He is absolutely beaming with pride at his creation. Lady Beatrice Davenport is a picture. She speaks like a lady, she acts like a lady. She is a lady!
The carriage ride to Cambridge is a silent one, the butterflies filling Beatrice’s belly and her chest, in fact, fluttering so loudly that she imagines to hear them.
“Will they like me?” she asks as they turn up a long-gabled street leading to the house at Cambridge that is to be her home from now on.
“My dear, you never have to worry about people liking you anymore. Many people depend on your position and your family’s wealth for their livelihoods. They are paid to like you.” This doesn’t sit well with Lady Beatrice, and when she steps out of the carriage, met by many servants, all excited to meet the new Lady of the manor, she makes up her mind to be as true and genuine as she has always been, and to be as approachable as Hudson had always been.
Her thoughts turn to Hudson for the briefest of moments, and then she is standing in a room filled with uncles and aunts and cousins and other relatives so that she knows that she will have to save these thoughts for later. For now, she must step into her new role as Lady Beatrice Davenport, a role that she would have to get comfortable in very quickly because the politics of her new position are immediately obvious. Also, a ball has been prepared to introduce her to the cream of English society, and when she realizes that the Carter’s were not invited, she knows that she now holds a position much higher than theirs.
She moves through the reception room, her uncle, the Earl of Sussex, on her arm. Or rather, she in his. He introduces her to many people, earls, dukes and duchesses, and even two princesses. Surely in today’s society, these titles would have become a little mundane, she thinks to herself. Clearly not, though, and the barristers and doctors and other people she had always thought of as ‘society’ clearly don’t even come close to this. They occupy their own space, their own level of the hierarchy.
“I’m a little tired,” she says to Horace, at about 11 PM.
“You would be my dear. This was a most filled day. Now, make your excuses, politely, and then retire to your bedroom, Lady Beatrice.” Horace almost has a tear in his eyes as he watches Beatrice speak to the earl who then turns to everybody in the room and commands them to raise their glasses once more to her before making her excuses to leave.
Beatrice still cannot believe all that has happened in the last month. The excitement of it all eventually settles on her in her own bed at Cambridge, and she knows that she must plan how she is going to manage her new life and all its engagements, and how she is going to manage her household in a way that would make her father and mother proud. She cries a little that her mother was not here with her, to experience the joy it would probably have filled her with, knowing that her daughter had been acknowledged and accepted by the Davenports.
A month later, while she is having tea in her massive library, winter really taking hold outside, a messenger arrives. A butler comes to find her and hands her the most exquisite piece of paper she has seen. It is an invitation, to an engagement party. She wonders if Hudson knows that she was invited, or if in fact he was instrumental in making sure that she was. Does she consider herself a friend of the Carter’s now?
She sips her tea, and makes up her mind to attend, and find out…
Chapter 7
The Engagement Party
A s the carriage carrying Lady Beatrice to the ball pulls up to Carter house, she is nervous. She knows that news of her arrival days earlier must have reached the house, but nobody came calling at the country estate, one of her father’s many properties dotted around England that she was staying at.
She walks up to the house on the arm of a certain Lord Wesley Porter, a friend of her cousin, who is also with them, along with her husband. Beatrice has rooted herself nicely among the Davenports and won them over with her gentle, humble natu
re.
The house seems much changed and not. It has been only a few months, but Beatrice is suddenly unfamiliar with everything. This is probably why it seems different, this uneasy unfamiliarity that she now feels.
Beatrice still looks the same, same face, same curious eyes, the same rosy red lips. Her skin is still the same flawless and perfect, and in the absence of any dirt, beautiful. She was always a beautiful woman.
Her dress is dazzling also, more so than any of the other women’s dresses at the ball. French lace and silk cut in the French style by skilled London seamstresses, especially for this event, she really looks and feels like a princess. For all intents and purposes that is exactly what she is.
She looks around at the staff, servants scurrying on tiptoe it seems to cater to the needs of all the guests, distinguished people she would have had no business meeting just a few months earlier. But now it seems that all of them have a strange curiosity towards her, and some of them want an introduction while others just watch her cautiously, apparently looking for anything that she was going to do that would indicate that she did not belong here.
Beatrice looks for familiar faces, among the servants. She sees some too, servers and butlers, porters and maids. But nobody seems to recognize her, and this saddens her somewhat. She wants to go up to them and say hello and ask after them and their lives since she left. Her cousin points out that this is not the time for such things, though, and that she can amuse herself later with the help, perhaps making a day of it, when there are not so many people around.
This world, this society with all its rules and regulations, its limitations on interaction and its hard boundaries is not a place that Beatrice is really comfortable in. However, she knows that she has no choice but to feign comfort. Once she has had her own experience of society, will she start to attempt to undo this deliciously complicated fabric? But undo it she will, she tells herself, and then she sees someone who actually does recognize her, someone who, unlike all the other servants in the house, doesn’t mind letting her know as much, coming up to her rather enthusiastically.
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